Moments
by uselessatmakingupnames
Summary: Moments in the minds of the ones who got left behind. Starting with Susan.
1. Chapter 1

Gentle: 1. Mild and calm; not violent or rough

2. Mild mannered, not stern, coarse or violent

3. Light and soft; not harsh, loud, strong etc.

4. Moderate, mild.

5. Noble: of the upper classes (from French _gentil, _well-bred)

And then, scrawled in the margin in a painfully familiar hand, a number and a name.

6. Susan

...

I don't remember the dictionary leaving my hands. Nor do I recall the sound of it slamming against the wall. Or how long I sat, drowning in my misery. Running my hands along the bare worn floorboards, banging my head against the wall, eyes misted over, mind playing out memories like the pictures. Every precious memory; the good, the bad and the ugly. Only none of them are really bad or ugly, how could anything be bad or ugly be when _they_ are involved. My beautiful, beautiful siblings.

Valiant. Just. Magnificent.

...

At some point, I crawled over and pick up the book, stare at the right hand corner of page 537. Run my fingers over the messy scrawl; press it to my cheek, my lips. I don't know why, just that I must, I must cling on to this. This smudged word, name, and accusation. Not once in my insufferable existence, have I ever damaged a book, not a finger print or a dog-ear or a drop of liquid. But I rip out the page with a force so fierce I nearly tear the page in two. For a moment I want to, a burning desire sweeps me. To tear this page into a thousand pieces of confetti, to screw it up and jump up and down on it, scatter the pieces far and wide so I never have to see this one word accusation ever again. But I don't.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply. And calmly, moderately, _gently, _tack it to the mirror, next to the picture of their smiling faces. I step back and look at the reminders of my foolishness. The photograph. The definition.I stand awhile, just looking. Then I turn and leave the room. I don't – I _can't_ look back.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN; Hello, sorry I realise it has been a while, I've been busy. I don't know if any one is expecting a story purely about Susan but I'm afraid this isn't it. They are snapshots in the thoughts of any minor or major character and this chapter is about one of those poor souls who died in the Castle Raid. He is not named or classified as a particular type of Narnian; I leave that to your imagination. I do plan on writing several more of these and will return to Susan, but I have no idea when or where the story will take me. Thank you for reading this. I hope you enjoy it and if you have requests let me know and I will try to rustle something up. **

**Warning; this chapter uses violent language. **

**I'm not 100% certain about this chapter but I've been working on it intermittently since I posted the other one and I think I've done as much as I can with it. Enjoy.**

….

It had begun so well. The stars had saluted us, the moon's silver rays had illuminated our path to eternal glory and in the rustling of the leaves, I could have sworn I heard a lions roar.

Perhaps I was deluding myself, Perhaps the roar was His warning, perhaps the stars were begging us to return to Aslan's How and the moon was simply showing us the way back, not forwards. We didn't listen; our heads filled with fantasies about this ill fated mission. Each step took us closer to death, not glory.

The Telmarine soldiers pick their way see only the broken bodies of courageous Narnians; they feel no remorse for slaughtering us. We are mere beasts; we have no feelings after all. So I lie here waiting, as the soldiers pick their way through the bodies, thrusting their spears into the throats of those who were clinging to life. I will wait until my turn, I have enough strength to die fighting.

I do not regret my part in this war or this raid; it has been an honour to serve alongside my fellow Narnians and even more so to blessed enough to fight under the Kings and Queens of Old and the Prince, whose heart is that of a Narnian. Under his reign Narnia, the true Narnia, shall blossom once more. No, I do not regret the events that have led me here. To die for Narnia is not a punishment, but a privilege. I will die today but not lying on the floor defenceless, I shall stand and fight until my last breath.

A Griffin flies over me, carrying the Just King to safety. The sight gives me the courage I need.

The Telmarine approaches.

I leap to my feet.

I am not afraid.

Remember me.


End file.
